


Unchangeable

by Lefaym



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Hart meets an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unchangeable

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to amand_r on LJ for the beta.

"What the _hell_," said Captain John Hart, as his captors threw him to the floor. "You're going to lock me in here with a giant _face_?"

The black-clad guards said nothing, but one of them knelt behind him and began to undo the complicated locks that bound his wrists together.

_**Leave them,**_ came a—voice?—a thought?—it wasn't quite like anything Hart had encountered before. _**He enjoys the restraints.**_

"What!" said Hart indignantly. "I'll have you know that _I'm_ the one who does the restraining, thank you very much!"

**_That is not what I recall,_** said—thought—the Face. _**Not all the time, anyway.**_

"Oh, bloody hell," Hart muttered. It was one of the perils of being a Time Agent, of course, running into past lovers you hadn't even met yet, ones who had already had the time to form grudges, but really, a _face_? In a _jar_? Not that he was close-minded, but he'd take a nice warm poodle over a giant face any day. Though, come to think of it, those tentacles _did_ have potential.

**_Leave us,_** the Face commanded, and the guards bowed respectfully before exiting the room.

Hart pulled himself to his feet—not easily, with his hands shackled—and regarded the Face suspiciously, wondering what, exactly, he had done to deserve this, and if it had been worth it.

** _You have not changed._ **

"I take care of myself," said Hart.

A strange—sound, or sensation, or _something_—filled the room then, and Hart suddenly realised that the Face was laughing at him.

"Hey!" Hart protested. "I do!"

** _Your lies have never worked on me._ **

"Hmph!" Hart grunted petulantly. "You could at least be polite enough to tell me when we've met before. It's not easy being a Time Agent, you know!"

** _I can show you._ **

It seemed—strangely—as though the Face was almost asking his permission. Hart frowned. "All right," he said.

The Face wiggled its tentacles, and suddenly Hart could feel it brushing his mind, weaving its way in, and then—

_Oh, fuck_. The sensations all came at once -- fucking him over a table in an abandoned schoolhouse, the same man in front of him, on his knees, sucking his cock while his hands were tied up with rope, in bed together, the two of them, with three women with blue skin and orange tongues, that wire from Denena V that had a thousand uses and they'd tried every one of them, kissing him, violently, in a pub in Cardiff, of all places, and then fucking him again in a seedy dive in Hong Kong, while other patrons looked on and neither of them cared, a few months after all that shit with the children had gone down. _Fuck._

"Jack," said Hart softly, using the name he'd last known him by; the name he'd preferred on most of their assignments anyway. "How—"

_ **It does not matter now.** _

Hart stepped as close to the glass as he could, pressing his forehead to its cool surface. He studied the face, looking for any sign, any resemblance. "I'm sorry," he said. Jack Harkness confined to a _jar_. A bloody jar!

_ **Do not be.** _

"But--"

_ **I paid a price. I have no regrets.** _

"Fuck me," said Hart to himself, under his breath.

_**If you like,**_ came the unexpected reply.

"What?"

_ **My memories have aroused you.** _

Well, that was true enough. Hart had been trying to ignore the way that his erection was straining uncomfortably against his tight pants.

_ **Allow me to help with that.** _

Hart smiled. "Well, I suppose you do owe me, after—"

He broke off as the Face—as Jack—touched his mind again, more forcefully this time, penetrating him, surrounding him and—_Oh, by the twenty-seven gods of Rixacksus_—it was _all_ there, everything he'd felt before, everything and more, every fantasy, every half-formed thought, and he could feel it, all of it, burning through him until there was nothing left but white searing light and—

Hart came back into awareness slowly, his head still spinning, and a delightfully sticky damp patch spreading through his trousers. He was breathing heavily as he gathered his wits together.

"You bastard," Hart managed finally. "You haven't changed a bit either."

He might have been imagining it, but the Face seemed to smile.

**_No,_** the Face agreed. **_No, I have not._**


End file.
